Here to Stay

by Adriana Herrera

I waved my hand and said, “No worries, take your time. I don’t need to rush back to the pernil-making insanity that is happening at my apartment right now.”

  He nodded and I thought I detected the tiniest bit of longing in his blue eyes at the mention of my family. This was not going to end well.

  I went back to my phone, hoping for a distraction, and saw Alba’s message.

  Alba: Did the crew make it there? Are Yolanda and Pura ransacking your place already?

  Julia: You knew?!

  Alba: *eye roll emoji* DUH. Of course, Yolanda told my mom weeks ago, but swore me to secrecy.

  I couldn’t bring myself to actually be annoyed; it had been a nice surprise.

  Julia: Traitor.

  The heart eye emojis softened the blow.

  Alba: Whatevs. I know you love having them there. But seriously what are you doing? Is Rocco Fucking Quinn still setting your pantalones on fire, or did he finally do something douchy and you’re over it?

  I looked up again and saw that the very non-douchy man in question was in the examining room with his new pet, then tapped on my phone to answer.

  Julia: I’m actually at the vet with him right now. He found a cat under a car or something and showed up at my place in a panic asking for help.

  Alba: Okay, that’s pretty adorable.

  Understatement of the year, since I was ready to fight the vet technician when she looked at him for too long, but I was not going there with Alba.

  Julia: It is somewhat heartwarming, yes.

  Alba: Ummmmhummmm... Only a matter of time, before you’re letting Rocco Fucking Quinn pet another kitty, Julia del Mar.

  She thought she was cute with her cat and eggplant emojis, and nobody had to know I was twisting my mouth into a knot to keep from laughing.

  Julia: You’re filthy.

  Alba: I speak truths.

  Right as I was about to go into a full-fledged explanation on the reasons why I would not be letting Rocco anywhere near my pantalones, or any of my body parts, the man himself walked out of the room holding a much-refreshed-looking Pulga.

  I looked at my phone and saw that my mom had sent a missive encouraging I invite Rocco to dinner, because there was a motherfucking conspiracy to have me deviate from my “Dick WILL NOT Distract Me” plan.

  I put my phone in my bag without answering. I did not need to get into a thing with my mother right now, especially when my resolve to keep Rocco at a safe distance was dangerously weakened by the prospect of him getting close enough to pet my feline-named body parts.

  As soon as the tech handed over a small cardboard crate to temporarily carry Pulga, he happily handed over his credit card and turned, his eyes scanning the waiting room until he spotted me sitting by the bulk dry dog food aisle. The smile that appeared on his face when I lifted a hand in hello was radiant. The skin around his eyes crinkled as he walked toward me. I stood up with my heart racing in my chest and smiled back. He looked more relaxed than he’d been when we arrived, and very grateful to see me there. More than grateful, he looked glad.

  “Is the patient all better now?” I asked, pointing at the crate.

  “Yeah. She’s doing fine. Some dirt got in her eye, so it got a little infected. The vet cleaned her up and gave me an ointment. She also gave her the shots she needed. Apparently, she’s only a few weeks old, so she was just undernourished and dehydrated, but she should be fine. Pulga’s a trooper.”

  I twisted my mouth to the side and nodded very slowly. “Infestations tend to be sturdy.”

  “Hey, she’ll hear you.” He covered the vent of the crate with a hand, but he was smiling hard. Oh man, the things happening in my body right now. There was throbbing, there was pounding.

  “Do you want to help me pick out some stuff for her? I need to get her food, a bowl, litter box and a few other things.” He signaled to the store area, where they had everything a pet could possibly need and more.

  “Sure. I’m not the shopper in the family, but I can do Pulga a solid now that we’ve gotten to know each other.”

  He shook his head, closing his eyes. “Thank you, for everything,” he said, sounding embarrassed. “I can’t believe I showed up at your house like that.”

  He sounded disgusted with himself and everything in me wanted to interrupt whatever was happening inside that head. This wasn’t the guy I’d gotten to know over the last couple of months. This guy sounded like he didn’t think he deserved to have people look out for him. I hated it.

  I walked up to him, getting close. Closer than we’d been since the night of the cookout at his place. “It’s fine. I don’t mind. And as much as I love my family, there are a lot of us. My place is roomy for one person, but it’s certainly tight quarters for five people.” I gestured toward the Dallas streets, where I assumed my mother and grandmother were wreaking havoc. “Besides, it’s better to give my mom and my grandmother some space when they’re doing the meal preparation. I just get in the way.”

  He looked surprised at that and tipped his head to the side like he had no idea how that could be possible. “You get in the way in a kitchen? But, you’re an awesome cook.”

  Oh no, that thing happening was not butterflies fluttering in my stomach.

  “Thanks. I’m okay, but not as good as they are, and things can get a little heated in there when all of us are together.”

  He nodded, as if he understood, but the tension in his shoulders, made me think his idea of “heated” was not the same as mine.

  “I mean, they tease and get loud and joke around, and it’s a little tiring. It’s fun, but I find I need breaks from it.”

  He seemed to relax with my explanation and it occurred to me that I had not asked much more about his family since that night his sister called. I glanced up at him and smiled, hoping he could see how much I liked being with him now. That this moment and his company was not an imposition or a nuisance, it had been...a nice surprise.

  I grabbed his hand, the one that wasn’t holding tightly to the crate, and led him to the store.

  “Come on, let’s get this little pest some stuff.”

  His lips turned up into a conspiratorial smile, like he was about to tell me he knew I’d find it as delightful as he did, and man it was getting harder to remember why getting mixed with Rocco was ten kinds of wrong. “Can we get a second bed in case Pulga wants to sleep over at yours?”

  I balked and started backing away with my arms crossed in front of my face. “Never. That fluff ball is officially uninvited to my house for overnight or any other kinds of visits.”

  I wasn’t sure why me shutting him down was making him laugh hysterically, but if I had to guess it was probably the fact that I was smiling like a loon when I said it.

  * * *

  We got in the car with a much-improved Pulga now sitting in a brand-new bright red carrier. Rocco was a few hundred dollars poorer, but you would not have thought it from how happy he looked when he got behind the wheel.

  I settled in and looked at him with a grin on my face. “You’re really happy you found this little cat, aren’t you?”

  He powered up the car and looked at me for a moment. “I’m just glad she’s okay. I was scared I wouldn’t be able to help her.”

  “Well, yeah, that is good, but even if you hadn’t been able to save her, you tried. Hard.” No, that warmth in my chest was not feelings. It was hunger and his heated leather seats.

  He nodded solemnly and turned back to look at where Pulga’s carrier was secured with a seat belt. “I’m glad we were able to help her though, and I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  That “we” made something a lot like joy course through my body, and before I knew it, I was breaking all the rules I’d self-imposed for Rocco Quinn.

  “Do you want to have dinner with my family tonight?” He turned his head to look at me and before he
answered I knew what he’d say.

  “Are you sure? I don’t want to impose.”

  “You’re not imposing. We’ll have tons of food.” His smile lost a bit of its shine when I said that, but he still seemed pleased.

  “I’d be honored to.”

  I dipped my head, feeling weirdly shy, and I wanted to fight it, because this was not a Rocco and me thing. It couldn’t be. But I could invite a friend who had nowhere to go for dinner with my people. It was just a kindness.

  “Great. My mom will be thrilled and my dad will have someone to watch the game with.”

  He flinched when I said that and again I wondered what Rocco’s story was.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Julia

  He brought his cat to dinner.

  I opened the door to my apartment and found Rocco holding the little carrier we’d bought for Pulga at the pet store in one hand and in the other he had a reusable shopping bag with what looked like his contribution for dinner.

  “Hey, I know you said she was uninvited.” His eyebrows dipped, obviously worried I’d be pissed at this plus-one situation.

  I wanted to kiss him so bad, I was dizzy.

  “But whenever I tried leave the house, she started mewling really loud. I think she’s still dehydrated.”

  Boy was I in over my head.

  I smiled placidly as I regrouped and tried not to let him see how his words had actually turned me into a puddle of goo. “It’s fine, since she’s convalescent and all, but once she’s back in shape, she’s banned from this apartment.”

  He gave a terse nod, still looking embarrassed. “Promise.”

  I waved him in, but before I could get another word in, my mom came out of my room in full “Dia de Fiesta” hair and makeup. Holidays that involved a meal meant my mother had to look like she was going to a red carpet somewhere. She was wearing an orange sheath dress with her long brown hair cascading over her shoulders and three-inch heels on her feet.

  To have dinner in my cramped two-bedroom apartment.

  “Rocco, you’re here. Qué bueno.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, then gestured toward the living room. “Julita, I’m so glad you invited him.”

  “Thank you for letting me join you.” Rocco gave me the look that I’d been getting from my friends my entire life, that said, “Damn, your mom is hot.” It was not easy to shine whenever my mother was around, but we were still obligated to try.

  I’d complied with a dark green wrap dress and a little bit of mascara and lip stain, but I was nowhere near as made up as she was. Except now I wished I’d made more of an effort, and why was I comparing myself to my mom and why did I care what Rocco thought?

  I was about to say something, anything, to get myself out of this mindfucky headspace when he walked into my living room and, as he’d done with my mom, bent his head and brushed a kiss against my cheek. As he pulled back, he looked at me appreciatively, his gaze caressing me from head to toe.

  “You look beautiful.” There was fluttering occurring inside me again, and for a second I really wished I could just push up and kiss him. Or punch him. God, I was a mess.

  I felt shy and looked around to see who was in the room witnessing my weirdness. My grandmother was arranging stuff in the kitchen, my sister was sitting on my love seat on her phone, and my mom had disappeared into the bedroom, probably to alert my dad his game-watching companion had arrived. Our eyes were locked together still and I whispered, low enough that only he could hear.

  “You look great too.” He blushed, and that urge to kiss him went into overdrive. His hair was a bit wild today, with none of the product he usually wore at the office. Those jet-black curls beckoning me to run my hands on them. He had on a chocolate-brown sweater, which made his blue eyes pop. His face was angular, with sharp edges, and so was his body. So tight and strong. Such a contrast from the roundness and softness of mine, and yet I felt like if I stepped up to him and put my arms around his waist, we’d fit together perfectly.

  “Rocco, llegaste.” My dad came out of the bedroom with a big smile on his face and broke whatever spell we’d been under. I startled and motioned to take the carrier with Pulga, which was wiggling in his hand.

  “Here, let me get her settled. Did you bring her food?”

  “It’s in the carrier.” He nodded as he passed me the cat.

  “Hola, Señor Ortiz, gracias por la invitación.” I just stared at him, slack-jawed. How was his Spanish this good?

  My dad waved a hand, dismissing his thank-you for the dinner invitation. “Any friends of Julita are always welcome at our table. Please call me Sebastian. Here, let me take that from you.” He gestured for the bag in Rocco’s hand. “I’ll put it in the kitchen and get us some beers, so we can watch this game. It’s starting in a few minutes.”

  Rocco gave him the bag and came over to where I was taking out the bowls for food and water that were tucked in a compartment on the side of Pulga’s state-of-the-art travelling tote. I almost rolled my eyes, but then remembered I helped him pick it out.

  “I brought a hazelnut chocolate cake and some champagne, since you said dessert.”

  I stood up, leaving Pulga to her slow inspection of my apartment. And turned my attention to her owner. Rocco was still feeling a little awkward. I could tell by the way his shoulders tensed and how he held up his back straight.

  Just in that moment, my abuela did what she always did: she said something outrageous to make everything easier.

  “Is anybody going to come in here and introduce me to the handsome man who just arrived? Or are you keeping those blue eyes to yourself, Julita?”

  She spoke in rapid-fire Spanish, but Rocco’s big smile told me he could understand it perfectly. He walked to the breakfast counter on the other side of the room where my grandmother, also dressed to the nines under an apron, was arranging pastelitos, quipes, alcapurrias, and other Dominican and Puerto Rican fried deliciousness on a platter.

  “Buenas tardes. Soy Rocco, un amigo de Julia.”

  She nodded and smiled wide at him, grabbing a quipe and passing it to him with a napkin.

  “Yo soy Pura.” Pointing at me, she said, “La abuela. Eat.” She gestured at the fried thing in his hand as my dad walked out of the kitchen and passed Rocco a cold Presidente beer. I had no idea how my mother had managed to find Dominican beer in Dallas, but when I got back from the vet there had been twelve green bottles chilling in my overstuffed fridge.

  Rocco just stood there with his hands full of drink and food, looking at me like he needed someone to navigate him through what was happening to him. There was chatter all around us; my mom and grandmother were back to preparing food and my sister was whining about there not being a vegetarian pastelito option. So I took pity on him and crossed the two steps to get right in front of him.

  “You heard the woman, eat.” He looked embarrassed and held up the hand with the small ball of fried wheat and beef.

  “What is it?” he asked with a shy smile that made me want to nibble on those red lips.

  “It’s called a quipe. It’s actually Middle Eastern, but there’s a big Lebanese community in the DR and those are a staple hors d’oeuvres food at birthdays, weddings, or any other gathering that involves food, which is all of them. They’re spiced bulgur wheat balls stuffed with ground beef. Taste it.”

  He brought it up to his mouth and took a big bite. My mom and grandma both stopped to look at him—I knew they were waiting for a reaction. They’d scorned Matt, who constantly turned down any food they offered him, so I knew this was some kind of test. I, on the other hand, was captivated for a whole different reason. I could not take my eyes off the way he licked his lips after that first bite to lap up a stray crumb of crispy wheat or the way his eyes rolled as he tasted the quipe.

  After he swallowed a bite and chased it with a long gulp of cold beer, he
looked over at the cooks, who were expectantly awaiting his verdict. “Buenisimo. Quiero otro, por favor.”

  They both applauded at the compliment and request for a second one.

  He already had two out of four in the bag.

  He turned back to look at me and gestured to the couch, where Paula and my dad were watching TV.

  “You want to come and watch the game?” His voice was low and suggestive, like he was asking me to do something a lot more scandalous than sitting with my dad and sister to watch football. My whole body reacted to him in a way that felt foreign, and I almost didn’t want to dig too much into it. I’d been with Matt for so long, I’d gotten used to the familiarity, and usually any feelings outside of that with us were not good ones. This thrill to be close, to discover that he wanted to be around me. It was dizzying.

  “Let me check if they need anything else from me.” I said, tilting my head toward the kitchen. Both matriarchs in my family shook their heads at my offer to help, and my mother passed me a platter of snacks instead.

  “Put this on the table, mija. We got the rest.” I did as she told me, put the food on the counter next to the drinks and grabbed the glass of Pinot Noir I’d poured myself earlier, gesturing to the TV.

  “Looks like they don’t need my help after all, so it’s ‘watching the professional sport I’m boycotting’ time.”

  My father looked up, knowing what was coming, and I extended a hand. “Did you pay your dues?”

  He acted all put out about it, but patted the phone in his pocket. “Ten dollars to the ACLU and ten to the Know Your Rights camp. Since it’s a holiday I gave to two places.” He put a finger over his mouth. “Now let me watch. This game is expensive.”

  Rocco gave me a bemused smile as he tried to figure out what my dad and I were talking about. When he finally put two and two together, he looked between my dad and the TV screen, a smothered laugh rumbling in his chest.

  “Did you make your dad give money to the ACLU?” Rocco asked with a smirk as he sat down next to me on the love seat opposite said parental unit.